Morning
And I live for the morning, through the breaking of day. Breathless with anticipation for the bounty of May. In my youth’s imperfections, is perfection a retrospective slight? Hope springs forth eternal, yet left alone in ensuing night.
And still I yearn for the morrow, this promise which fills my lungs. Wrought with blistering sorrow, a life that once had sprung. Now unto this melancholy, I bid it a fond farewell. This life is but a dream, and the past condemns us to Hell.
Now I live in this day, and still I remember most everything. My resolve is as robust as these faceless meanderings. There’s a strength which lies within the faithful, the truth is living in today. I live for it all, this morning anew, may our souls fervently display.
